Hunger
by rinkashita
Summary: OneShot. A STEREK treat for Halloween. As a vampire, Stiles has grown used to being the only supernatural being in Beacon Hills. So when a werewolf stumbles into his territory, Stiles sets out to stake his claim. What he never planned on was the wolf being the one to stake his claim.


A thousand years old and Stiles didn't look a day over twenty-two. No wrinkles, no grey hairs – just a few scars from a life long passed. They were faded reminders of battles fought and won. Well, _most_ of them had been won. The last? It was what had put Stiles here, on the road to eternal life.

And eternal loneliness.

In a thousand years, Stiles has had countless of lovers: peasants, nobles, stable boys, whores, even two kings. But none of them filled the void within him. Something was always missing, something vital that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

By the year 2017, Stiles had all but given up. Sitting in a dark window seat of an even darker house, he was contemplating suicide. His home was quiet enough for such introspection. There's a distinct advantage to people believing your home is haunted; an even bigger advantage when the city officials are too terrified to tear it down.

Needing to feed only once a month left him plenty of time to think. And to play. Stiles' amusement of choice came in the form of fucking with the neighbourhood kids, the ones who dared each other to come close enough to look into the front bay window of the rotting, derelict, "haunted" mansion that Stiles had called home for the past two decades. A fleeting glimpse of… _something_ … would send the kids running in the opposite direction, shrieking for their mothers. Stiles could hear their screams from two blocks away, and many times, he would laugh until he hurt.

The first time Stiles realized he wasn't alone, he didn't know what to think. He felt the pull – an irresistible need to found out who – or _what_ – had stumbled into his hunting grounds. Beacon Hills was his and he wasn't interested in sharing.

The first night he saw his new visitor, he was hunting. Hunger sated, he was making his way back home when he noticed movement in a shadowed corner where two dilapidated warehouses met. Curiosity got the better of him and he moved closer. That was his first mistake. Fingernails that were as sharp as broken glass sliced through the sleeves of his coat as his attacker slammed him back against a wall. Full moon overhead? Stiles knew what had him.

Stiles' second mistake? Finding a dangerous sort of beauty in the golden eyes staring back at him. He should have run, but he couldn't. Couldn't look away from him. But he was hungry; Stiles knew that look as well. Before Stiles had a chance to react, his attacker struck.

Stiles' head slammed back against the wall of the warehouse as his attacker's teeth sank into his throat. When Stiles tried to fight back, a hand shot up, pinning him with a death grip. His attacker's body, muscular and hard as steel, ground into his, like he was determined to fuck Stiles through the wall. And there was no doubt in Stiles' mind – he would have let him.

Stiles wanted him. Stiles wanted him so much that he would do anything to get him.

His assailant jerked away from him so suddenly it left them both dazed. Stiles could only watch as he stumbled backwards; hunger, fear, confusion all warring with each other in his eyes. Oh, the stranger still looked like a man… to an extent. His body was certainly that of a man's, clothes shredded and hanging in rags from his imposing frame. Thick ebony fur covered his exposed chest, tapering off the lower it got. By the time Stiles' gaze reached the waist of what were once jeans, he could see the hair there was sparse, and he couldn't help but wonder if those thick curls surrounded his assailant's cock.

Only when the stranger growled did Stiles realize he was staring, and quite intently at that. Stiles observed that the stranger's arms were not as thickly-covered, nor were his legs. He was not fully shifted, but his teeth were down, canines that looked like they could tear steel into shreds. Stiles lifted a hand to his neck. The wound was already closing. The stranger followed his movement, the look in his golden eyes turning to cautious curiosity.

"What are you?" Oh. Stiles could come from just listening to that voice. Pure, thick, deep. When he spoke, Stiles could feel the vibrations in his own chest.

"I am certainly not your kind," Stiles said, watching in utter fascination as the half-shifted wolf gave way to a man. The black hair lessened to a light dusting over his chest with the same small patch stretching down his torso. Canines receded, while his eyes remained a watchful yellow.

"You are not human." The werewolf shivered slightly, but for the moment, Stiles resisted the urge to go to him. Instead, Stiles took off his coat and held it out to him. The wolf looked at it, then at Stiles.

"Take it," Stiles urged. "Cold does not affect me."

One thick-muscled arm stretched out to snatch the leather coat out of Stiles' hand. How Stiles wanted to taste him, to feel those long fingers deep inside him…

"Why?"

The question caught Stiles off-guard. "A wolf can survive extended periods of cold, but a man cannot. Would you care for somewhere to sleep? Perhaps some… less worn… clothing?"

"Why?" Damn, but this man had too many questions!

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Is your vocabulary so limited? I'm sure I could arrange for a tutor or–."

"My vocabulary is just fucking fine," the wolf growled, baring his teeth, his body tensing.

Stiles shook his head, clicking his tongue at him. He wondered how far he could push the wolf until he got tired of him finished the job he'd started on. "Come now," Stiles chastised. "Is that any way to treat someone who's trying to help you?"

A deeper growl was all the warning Stiles got before he found himself captive, quite literally. The wolf had both of his wrists in one hand and Stiles could feel the delicate bones popping and grinding as the wolf held his arms above his head. With his other hand, the wolf ripped his shirt right down the front and tossed the shredded remains to the ground. Personally, Stiles preferred kisses that were easy and gentle, with the intent to explore and taste. All that changed the second the wolf crushed his lips to Stiles', teeth biting and scraping, tongue so deep Stiles was sure he was going to choke.

But God, Stiles wanted more.

 _Devour me_ , Stiles thought. _Rip me to shreds. Just don't stop kissing me._

The wolf was hard against Stiles, cock feeling impossibly big, throbbing against Stiles' own. With his other hand, the wolf freed them both, long fingers coaxing them to release. Stiles came first, screaming into the wolf's brutal kiss as blood mixed with saliva. Only a second later, the wolf jerked away and howled, throat arching as liquid heat spilled over his fist and their cocks. That neck, so irresistibly inviting… Stiles gave him no warning, just bit down, body shuddering as the wolf's blood, rich and thick and sweet, poured over his tongue. Stiles had only had a quick taste before the wolf pulled away, golden eyes narrowed in warning.

Then he was gone. Just like that.

The last Stiles saw was a sleek black wolf as it disappeared around a corner. At his feet was his coat. Stiles bent to pick it up, and on an impulse, sniffed it.

The wolf.

The wolf's scent was all over it – his sweat, his seed, him. Stiles looked toward the end of the alley and smiled. They would meet again. Of that, Stiles had no doubt. Draping his coat over one arm, Stiles left the alley, mind on nothing but a wolf in man's clothing. Whatever had possessed Stiles only moments before to want such a dangerous creature still had its talons deep inside him. He was so lost in his own thoughts – remembering the wolf's smell, his taste, his touch – that he didn't realize he was home until he looked up to see the rotting carcass of his mansion.

Just before slipping through the gap between the iron gate and the brick wall to which it was attached, Stiles looked out into the dark street. Something within him hoped the wolf was out there, watching him with even half the interest Stiles now had in him. Neighbourhood punks were fun to scare, but fear can be a two-edged sword – sweet and bitter and oh-so-addictive. Stiles' new visitor? He inspired fear… and hunger and desire. Halloween was coming soon. Stiles wondered, as he closed the front door behind him, if he would run into his new visitor. He hoped he would.

* * *

If Stiles had to pick a favourite holiday, it would be Halloween. It was the only time Stiles could go out and blend in perfectly. No one batted an eye if they suddenly found themselves dancing with a vampire. In terms of costumes, Stiles' was far from the most outrageous. So, with a ruffled poet's shirt, tight black pants, black boots, and a cape, he went out to see what sort of fun he could pick up. Sometimes feeding ended in death for the unfortunate soul stuck with him, and sometimes… well, sometimes he had a bout of goodwill.

Finding himself in one of the more festive nightclubs in town, Stiles mixed and mingled, flashing fangs at those who looked hard enough. No one believed they were real, and that was fine by him. Finding a very food representation of a medieval lord, Stiles took him out onto the dance floor. He was lacking. Very lacking. Stiles quickly became bored, and he imagined his dance partner did as well, considering he left without Stiles quite noticing. Stiles' attention had been well-diverted to the front door.

There he was. Stiles' new visitor, the tempest he had collided with in an alley only two nights before. His clothes were much more fitting, almost tailored to his body. Now he did look like a lord, moving easy in his skin. Much different from the creature Stiles had encountered before. No longer in tattered jeans, the were wore pants of rich burgundy. His shirt was white, opened just enough at the top to make Stiles' mouth water. Lord, but the were was predatory, even in this form. Golden eyes scanned the room. Then the stare settled on Stiles. Stiles could feel it sweep over him and a shiver followed it, from the soles of Stiles' feet to the ends of his hair.

Before Stiles knew the were had even moved, Stiles was flush against him, their bodies sliding and grinding in time to the pounding rhythm of the house music. The were was already hard, hungry. Stiles could see it in his eyes, the way the were stared at him. For him, Stiles would spread himself out as a banquet.

"Now will you tell me who you are?" The were asked. Even in human form, his voice was beyond mesmerizing.

"Stiles Stilinski, at your service."

The were smiled at that. Stiles should have been worried.

"And you?" Stiles barely managed to get the words out before he was flat against a wall, the wolf's mouth over his, tongue probing deep. The were never stopped moving, never stopped dancing, grinding his body against Stiles as they kissed. When the were finally broke the kiss, they were both breathless.

"Derek," the were said, mouth moving over Stiles' chin, his throat, teeth nipping. "Derek Hale." Then he stopped just as his lips brushed over Stiles' jugular vein. "Delicious," he growled softly.

Twisting his fingers in the wolf's hair, Stiles pressed the wolf's mouth to his neck, all but begging to feel those sharp teeth sink into his flesh. The were obliged without a word, tongue flicking out to taste before his fangs pierced Stiles' skin. The movements of the wolf's body mirrored the rhythm of his feeding: hard and almost desperate. His hands slid under Stiles' shirt, hot against Stiles' chest, Stiles' sides. Stiles felt every sucking pull from his neck to his cock, the steady rhythm driving him mad with need. When the were pulled away this time, he was kind enough to lick the wounds, urging them to heal.

"Come."

It was a single word that held many meanings for Stiles at the moment. Stiles followed the were out of the club and they walked quietly for half a block before stopping at the opening to another alley. Not quite Stiles' idea of a long night of fucking, but then the were flashed him a toothy grin and stepped through a door Stiles hadn't even realized was there. Reaching out of the darkness inside, the wolf took Stiles' hand and pulled him into the warehouse.

It wasn't quite as dismal on the inside as the outside suggested. In fact, it wasn't far from what Stiles' own home looked like. They walked deeper into the interior of the warehouse via a narrow hallway. When the hallway opened up, they were in what must have been a lobby. Derek led the way through a door on the right and into an office. A single mattress, rather well-kept, sat on the floor near the middle of the room. Boxes were stacked, some waist-high, along the walls. After closing the door behind them, Derek leaned against it, pulling Stiles back against him.

"Have you fed?" Derek asked, breath blowing over Stiles' right ear as he began to undress the other man. His fingers deftly worked open Stiles' pants, letting them fall to the floor. Long fingers curled around Stiles' cock, and he stroked the vampire slowly, every slow slide of his hand drawing another shudder up Stiles' spine.

"I do not need to feed now. Once a month is enough for me." Stiles sucked in a sharp breath as Derek's fingernails scratched his shaft. Looking down, whatever words Stiles might have thought to say caught in his throat as he watched Derek's claws stroke over him, leaving bright trails of blood in their wake. Fire blazed through Stiles when Derek's fist closed around him again, Stiles' blood the perfect lubricant.

"Fuck me," Stiles heard himself say.

A dark chuckle was Derek's only answer as he pushed Stiles towards the bed, releasing his cock. Stiles was painfully hard, more so when he looked down to run his fingers through the blood. Stiles brought his hand to his lips to lick it clean, shivering as the taste settled within him. He heard Derek's clothes drop to the floor, and then Derek had him pinned to the wall. Derek kept one hand on the back of his neck and spread Stiles' legs with his foot. Two fingers slipped into Stiles' mouth and the vampire sucked on them, wetting them, moaning as more of Derek's taste seeped into him. Then the fingers were pushing deep inside him, curling to stroke over his gland roughly.

Stiles jerked and shouted, body tensing as Derek fucked him with his fingers, torturing him until Stiles was near begging. Derek pressed close and laughed, tongue sliding along Stiles' shoulder. Then sharp, searing pain shot through Stiles as Derek thrust inside him. Stiles threw his head back and Derek bit down on his throat, drinking deeply as pounded Stiles into the wall, thrusts hard and unrelenting. Stiles reached back with both hands and grabbed Derek's hips, using what leverage he could find to entice the wolf. When Derek thrust in, Stiles met him, backing into him as Derek's cock stretched him to the point of pain.

Derek was not feeding. Stiles realized that when he felt no pull, no flow of blood. Lord above, Derek had marked him. Somehow, some way, Stiles was now Derek's. Stiles cried out as he came then, his cock spasming as his body sucked Derek in deeper, demanding the wolf's release as well. With a guttural growl that echoed into Stiles' soul, Derek gave in, throbbing deep inside Stiles as he filled the vampire with his seed.

It took them both several seconds to gather enough wits to move. Derek pulled out of Stiles' neck first, then out of his ass. Stiles slumped against the wall, panting and shaking. Stiles heard Derek drop to the mattress and the wolf laughed as he fell back. Stiles could only stare at him in bewilderment. When had the tables turned? Stiles felt like he had missed something, but at the same time, he felt like he finally had caught something quite important.


End file.
